


What Goes Wrong

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: Coulson can't help but wonder if any of their plans have ever gone smoothly.





	What Goes Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spikedluv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for the lovely spikedluv who gave the prompt “a mission gone wrong (or right).”

Some days, particularly those days when he woke up with a sore head and his arms tied behind his back, it took a very long time to remember that he worked for an elite spy agency alongside the best and the brightest the world (and on occasions the universe) had to offer. Today was definitely one of those days.

Coulson twisted his head a little and immediately regretted it, feeling a cut on his neck pull open again. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls, everything he looked at had a silvery halo around it and the bells in his head were reverberating like in an echo chamber.

It took him a lot longer than it should have to realise that the bells weren't inside his head.

Steeling himself to move again he tried to work out if anyone else was with him, but aside from a couple of chairs and a pile of boxes marked “Explosives” and “Do Not Smoke”, he was all alone.

The boxes were a worrying issue but he already had enough worrying issues to deal with, death by explosion would just have to wait till later.

He tested the ropes tying his hands and they seemed loose enough that he could probably wriggle his way out of them, same with the ones around his ankles; there's nothing worse when realising you've been captured than realising you've been captured by amateurs.

The ringing stopped and he was just about to sigh in relief when a banging started and some of the pipes in the ceiling started to sway dramatically.

“Well, that isn't good,” he tried to say, but it came out more like a muffled rumble as his mouth still felt too dry.

The banging stopped and was then accompanied with an ominous hissing sound and before Coulson had the chance to move out of the way the pipe exploded, falling to the ground by Coulson's feet and followed by gallons upon gallons of water.

Coulson reserved a moment to wonder what he'd done in a past life to deserve this and then began to get himself untied.

“Need some help?”

Coulson sighed in relief as the ropes fell from his hands and he was able to rub some life back into them. Only then did he look up and find Clint dangling through the hole in the ceiling, holding on only by his legs.

“Where's the rest of my team?” Coulson asked after rubbing his lips with the water.

“Bruised, battered and embarrassed, but alive and with the back-up team.”

Coulson nodded, and started untying the ropes around his ankles as the water lapped at them.

“Any time you feel like, boss,” Clint said, though he didn't look particularly uncomfortable. Coulson nodded to acknowledge his comment and then sloshed his way to the boxes with EXPLOSIVES written on them.

“Have you got one of those new scanners on you?” Coulson asked.

Clint fumbled around behind him and then threw one down for Coulson to catch. Coulson applied it to the first of the boxes, hummed and then put it on the others.

“Let me guess, not explosives?”

“No such luck. I think these are the medical samples we've been looking for.”

“You want to bring them with you?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Clint answered by sighing dramatically and then tossing Coulson his backpack and a knife which Coulson used to open the boxes, being careful to check for potential booby-traps.

“Okay, I'm done,” Coulson said, sloshing around in the water that was now up to his shoulders and holding out the backpack for Clint to take and put on.

Clint reached down for Coulson and easily pulled him up into the ceiling.

“Hey you,” Clint said, once they were face to face.

“Hey back,” Coulson replied.

“Fury's been yelling for you for about ten minutes,” Clint said, handing over an ear piece. Coulson tried not to read too much into the way their fingers brushed together.

“Coulson here, what's the sitrep?”

“Hell in a hand cart,” Fury replied. “Get your ass out of there. We're going to blow the facility.”

“Understood. We have the test tubes, by the way. If you're still interested.”

Fury snorted. “Son of a – just get out before I decide you and Hawkeye aren't worth the trouble.”

“Aw, boss, that hurts my feelings,” Clint said.

Fury cut the line.

“Someone's not had his morning coffee,” Clint said with a pout. Coulson fought back a smile.

“Come on,” he said, “we really do need to move.”

They turned and started through the air ducts, Clint leading the way and Coulson just about managing to keep up. The fact that he got a good look at Clint's ass the whole way out was neither here nor there.

* * * * *

“So, what are they?” Clint asked the tech they'd brought with them. She rolled her eyes and batted Clint's hands away from the samples, concentrating on looking through the microscope.

“Clint, let Rosemary work,” Coulson said. “Here, have a sandwich.” He held out the pastrami on rye he'd put together and wafted it until Clint came over to the kitchen counter and sat down. Their safe house was certainly nicer than the last one, which had been infested with rats, and the one before that, which had been infested with cockroaches.

“You heard from Natasha yet?” Clint asked, which of course was the real root of the problem.

“She's only an hour overdue,” Coulson reminded him. “If it gets to two I'll make some calls, okay?”

He sat down opposite Clint and bit into his own sandwich. Clint nodded and started eating, finishing his own sandwich and the half of Coulson's that he passed over.

“You make a good sandwich,” Clint said.

“Maybe one day I'll get to make you dinner?” Coulson suggested, before he could chicken out like he had so many times before. Clint looked surprised and then Coulson thought he looked pleased. But it was a little hard to concentrate once the grenades were being thrown.

* * * * *

Coulson blinked and the world came back into focus, sharp and smoky and filled with aches and pains and the certain knowledge that this mission was never going to get back on track.

He heard someone coughing next to him and then felt a hand on his ankle.

“Agent Coulson?” Rosemary asked. “Are you okay?”

Coulson tried to nod his head but decided that that way madness lay and tried to sit up instead. “I'm okay,” he said, not even pretending to mean it. “Are you hurt?”

“I think my leg's broken,” she said and Coulson immediately forgot all his own aches to check on her.

“Any sign of Barton?” he asked.

“He went outside, there was some gunshots and then...then I don't know, it was just really quiet and you weren't moving.”

“Sorry about that,” Coulson said, making a tourniquet out of his jacket. “Do you think you'll be able to walk?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Coulson nodded and searched around for his weapon, discovering it on the floor, still fully loaded. “Stay low, I'm just going to check the perimeter.”

“The samples are all destroyed,” she said, pointing at the gelatinous mess they'd made on the floor.

“We'll worry about that later,” Coulson said and moved towards the door which was dangling off its hinges.

He looked to his right and then to his left. Three bodies were lying in the dirt, not moving. If he had to guess, he'd say that was Clint's work.

He didn't want to leave Rosemary unprotected but when he turned back to look at her she'd fashioned herself a weapon out of a broken stool leg and some broken glass. He nodded approvingly to himself and made a mental note to remember to add that to his mission report later before scooting out of the house and venturing further down the driveway. Two cars were parked side by side at the end, littered with bullet holes.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Clint inside, rifling through the glove compartment.

“What have we got?” Coulson asked.

“Nothing useful,” Clint said. “These guys were pros.” He pulled out a stack of photos and handed them over to Coulson.

“Haven't really captured my good side, have they?” Coulson asked, staring down at the surveillance photos in his hand. They'd been taken of him and Natasha two weeks ago.

“Any idea what's going on?”

“Do I ever?” Coulson asked. “Back-up?”

“Five seconds,” Clint said, looking out over the distance. Coulson turned in the same direction and saw the familiar SHIELD helicopter on its way. Maybe this time the mission would get back on track.

He should have known better.

* * * * *

The helicopter landed safely in the field nearby, but it wasn't SHIELD agents inside. Coulson and Clint made a dash back to the cabin and found Rosemary easily defending herself against two masked intruders, even with a broken leg.

“Get that woman a promotion,” Clint said as he helped Coulson handcuff the two men to the radiator.

“On my to do list,” Coulson replied, then went to retrieve the better first aid kit from the helicopter and went about patching Rosemary up enough that she'd be comfortable until the real rescue came.

“I'm fine, boss,” she said. “But what about the samples?”

“Can you remember anything about them? Anything useful?”

“My notes are over there somewhere,” she said, pointing towards the upturned desk. “But I do remember, just before everything went black, I recognised something about them....and it's driving me nuts but I can't...”

“Just let your mind go blank,” Coulson said, “deep breath, close your eyes, try and remember what you were doing just before the grenades...”

Rosemary did as she was instructed, her breaths deep and even. “They were the same,” she said, finally, opening her eyes.

“The same?”

“The same as the samples Agent Sitwell brought back...two months ago? From that facility in Siberia. They were trying to make the super soldier serum. It was like that only some tiny differences. They've been working on it again.”

“I thought we destroyed that facility and all the samples except the ones at SHIELD?” Clint said.

“That's what I thought too,” Coulson agreed. He shook his head and looked over his shoulder at Clint. “That doesn't leave this room until I've had a chance to speak to Fury.”

Clint nodded, as did Rosemary.

* * * * *

When the next SHIELD transport arrived Natasha was on it, looking like she'd been through the wringer herself with her arm in a sling and cuts all over her face.

“New haircut?” Clint asked, grinning until she punched him in the arm with her good hand.

“You okay, Coulson?” she asked.

“Fine, until the next disaster. What about you?”

“I'll fill you in on the way. Fury's been summoned in front of the World Security Council.”

“That'll be the next disaster then.”

* * * * *

Their helicopter didn't crash on the way back to HQ which at this point was more than Coulson was hoping for. Since Fury was still in with the Council Maria sent him, Clint, Natasha and Rosemary to the infirmary where he promptly fell asleep as soon as the doctor asked him to lie back.

When he woke up Clint was reading aloud from the _National Enquirer_ with what Coulson took to be added commentary. He realised about halfway through that he had absolutely no idea who any of these celebrities were supposed to be.

“Clint,” he started to say, then started to cough and had to be helped to a glass of water before he could get his body to cooperate. “What?” he asked finally, realising he probably should have created a more complex sentence when Clint pressed the back of his hand to Coulson's head.

“Slight fever,” Clint said. “Bruised ribs. Probable concussion. Possible hypothermia.”

“Hypothermia?”

“Yeah. I guess you didn't notice the shivering and slurred speech on the ride home?”

“Talking of which...how did I get here?”

Clint leaned forward. “You don't remember how you got to the infirmary?”

“No...?”

Clint snorted. “Yeah. I'm going to get a doctor. Don't try and escape.”

“Isn't that usually my line?” Coulson asked, but Clint was already out the door.

* * * * *

Coulson supposed he must have fallen asleep between the time Clint left his hospital room and brought the doctor back because he found himself waking up again only it was a lot darker than it had been before and Clint and Natasha were huddled together, whispering.

“And what did he say?”

“He asked me out to dinner, sort of, maybe.”

Natasha sighed. “Why don't you just ask him yourself?”

“What if he isn't interested?”

“You just said he asked you to dinner.”

“Did he, though?”

“Yes,” Coulson coughed, “yes he did.”

Natasha and Clint stood up and leaned over him. “How are you feeling?” Natasha asked.

“I think that depends on how long I've been here.”

Natasha looked over at Clint before answering. “Three days.”

Coulson blinked. “Huh.”

“Viral infection, the doc said,” Clint explained. “Said you were too stubborn for your own good.”

Coulson tried to sit up only for Natasha to easily push him down with one hand. “You need rest.” She looked between Clint and Coulson with a calculating look in her eye that Coulson knew from experience never boded well. “Clint can fill you in on the mission and I'll go get some food.”

She disappeared out the door before Clint had even started to open his mouth to protest.

“So,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The mission kind of went to hell.”

Coulson snorted. “I already knew that.”

Clint smiled and sat back down in his char. “Yeah, well, just so long as you realise you're in Fury's bad books for at least a couple of months. But what I meant was the mission me and Nat went on while you were playing Sleeping Beauty.”

Coulson did not want to examine how he felt about that particular nickname, nor the way Clint keep avoiding eye contact.

“Why what happened?”

“Turns out one of the Science techs was a double agent and managed to walk the super soldier serum that Sitwell retrieved straight out of the building and into the hands of an AIM wannabe organisation. Nat and I followed him and got it back and brought down the bad guys before they'd even printed off their headed notepaper.”

Coulson snorted. “I'm sure there's a lot more to that story.”

“But why tell you and deprive you of the pleasure of reading my scintillating report later?”

Coulson smiled. “I look forward to it. Though not as much as I do to getting out of here and cooking you breakfast.”

“Breakfast, huh?”

“If you like.”

“I think I do.”

“Oh good grief,” Natasha said, walking into the room carrying a bottle of wine and a couple of sandwiches. “You sound like the Hallmark channel.”

“She's just jealous,” Clint said.

“She really isn't,” Natasha replied, dropping the sandwiches on to the bed at Coulson's feet. “Now you can have your dinner.”

“And she thinks _we're_ the Hallmark channel,” Clint said, grinning even as Natasha glared at him.

“That's very thoughtful, Natasha, thank you,” Coulson replied.

“It's non-alcoholic,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes before handing over the bottle of wine. “I'm going to go scratch an itch. And if you're wondering, the cameras in this room have mysteriously stopped working.” She walked out as quickly as she had entered.

Coulson knew he was probably still feeling the effects of his injuries because he wasn't sure how to react. He suspected he was smiling more than he had in the last two years.

“We should probably eat,” Clint started to say and then got up, stopped and stared down at Coulson. “Something I just want to....”

Coulson felt his heart speeding up as Clint leaned forward and kissed him, gently at first until Coulson moved his arm to pull Clint closer, not caring about the pull of his IV, just the way Clint smiled into the kiss.

They pulled apart and Coulson didn't know quite where to look, until Clint sat down on the bed next to him and kissed him again.

“I could get used to this,” Coulson said.

“About bloody time,” Fury said, startling them both. He was standing in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights and looking like something out of a vampire movie. “I need to talk to Coulson. Scram.”

“Can't it wait?” Coulson asked, grabbing at Clint's wrist before he moved away.

Fury narrowed his eyes. “Now you've got yourself a personal life you think you can dictate when your boss gives you a briefing.”

“Yes,” Coulson replied.

Fury actually laughed. “Son of a – Fine. I'll be back at 9. I do not want to see Barton naked.” He turned away, his trenchcoat flying out behind him.

“So,” Clint said, “9, huh?”

“ _Clint...”_ Coulson started to say, but it was pointless, Clint was already naked and wriggling his hips.

“You knew what you were signing up for,” Clint said, grinning all the while.

“Yes, yes I did,” Coulson agreed with a rueful shake of his head, and then he shifted over so that Clint could squeeze under the covers with him.

He was a big believer that every cloud had a silver lining; it seemed to make perfect sense that Clint was always the one making sure that was true. A lot of things made perfect sense when Clint was at his side, and he promised to himself, as he started to drift back into sleep, that he'd do everything he could to make sure that Clint knew that too. Naked or otherwise.


End file.
